| |
To Mr. Murray
‘NOT to admire, is all the art I know, | |
| To make men happy, and to keep them so.’ | |
| (Plain truth, dear MURRAY! needs no flowers of speech, | |
| So take it in the very words of Creech.) | |
| This vault of air, this congregated ball, | 5 |
| Self-centred sun, and stars that rise and fall, | |
| There are, my Friend! whose philosophic eyes | |
| Look thro’, and trust the Ruler with his skies; | |
| To him commit the hour, the day, the year, | |
| And view this dreadful All—without a fear. | 10 |
| Admire we then what earth’s low entrails hold, | |
| Arabian shores, or Indian seas infold; | |
| All the mad trade of fools and slaves for gold? | |
| Or Popularity? or Stars and Strings? | |
| The Mob’s applauses, or the gifts of Kings? | 15 |
| Say with what eyes we ought at courts to gaze, | |
| And pay the great our homage of amaze? | |
| If weak the pleasure that from these can spring, | |
| The fear to want them is as weak a thing: | |
| Whether we dread, or whether we desire, | 20 |
| In either case, believe me, we admire: | |
| Whether we joy or grieve, the same the curse, | |
| Surprised at better, or surprised at worse. | |
| Thus good or bad, to one extreme betray | |
| Th’ unbalanc’d mind, and snatch the man away; | 25 |
| For Virtue’s self may too much zeal be had; | |
| The worst of madmen is a saint run mad. | |
| Go then, and if you can, admire the state | |
| Of beaming diamonds and reflected plate; | |
| Procure a Taste to double the surprise, | 30 |
| And gaze on Parian charms with learned eyes; | |
| Be struck with bright brocade or Tyrian dye, | |
| Our birthday nobles’ splendid livery. | |
| If not so pleas’d, at council-board rejoice | |
| To see their judgments hang upon thy voice; | 35 |
| From morn to night, at Senate, Rolls, and Hall, | |
| Plead much, read more, dine late, or not at all. | |
| But wherefore all this labour, all this strife? | |
| For Fame, for Riches, for a noble Wife? | |
| Shall one whom Nature, Learning, Birth, conspired | 40 |
| To form, not to admire, but be admired, | |
| Sigh while his Chloë, blind to Wit and Worth, | |
| Weds the rich dulness of some son of earth? | |
| Yet Time ennobles or degrades each line; | |
| It brighten’d Craggs’s, and may darken thine. | 45 |
| And what is Fame? the meanest have their day; | |
| The greatest can but blaze and pass away. | |
| Graced as thou art with all the power of words, | |
| So known, so honour’d, at the House of Lords: | |
| Conspicuous scene! another yet is nigh | 50 |
| (More silent far), where Kings and Poets lie; | |
| Where Murray (long enough his country’s pride) | |
| Shall be no more than Tully or than Hyde! | |
| Rack’d with sciatics, martyr’d with the stone, | |
| Will any mortal let himself alone? | 55 |
| See Ward, by batter’d Beaux invited over, | |
| And desp’rate misery lays hold on Dover. | |
| The case is easier in the mind’s disease; | |
| There all men may be cured whene’er they please. | |
| Would ye be bless’d? despise low joys, low gains; | 60 |
| Disdain whatever Cornbury disdains; | |
| Be virtuous, and be happy for your pains. | |
| But art thou one whom new opinions sway, | |
| One who believes as Tindal leads the way? | |
| Who Virtue and a Church alike disowns, | 65 |
| Thinks that but words, and this but brick and stones? | |
| Fly then on all the wings of wild desire, | |
| Admire whate’er the maddest can admire. | |
| Is Wealth thy passion? hence! from pole to pole, | |
| Where winds can carry, or where waves can roll, | 70 |
| For Indian spices, for Peruvian gold, | |
| Prevent the greedy, and outbid the bold: | |
| Advance thy golden mountain to the skies; | |
| On the broad base of fifty thousand rise; | |
| Add one round hundred, and (if that ’s not fair) | 75 |
| Add fifty more, and bring it to a square: | |
| For, mark th’ advantage; just so many score | |
| Will gain a wife with half as many more, | |
| Procure her beauty, make that beauty chaste, | |
| And then such friends—as cannot fail to last. | 80 |
| A man of Wealth is dubb’d a man of Worth; | |
| Venus shall give him form, and Antis birth. | |
| (Believe me, many a German Prince is worse, | |
| Who proud of pedigree is poor of purse.) | |
| His Wealth brave Timon gloriously confounds; | 85 |
| Ask’d for a groat, he gives a hundred pounds; | |
| Or if three ladies like a luckless play, | |
| Takes the whole house upon the poet’s day. | |
| Now, in such exigencies not to need, | |
| Upon my word you must be rich indeed: | 90 |
| A noble superfluity it craves, | |
| Not for yourself, but for your fools and knaves; | |
| Something which for your honour they may cheat, | |
| And which it much becomes you to forget. | |
| If Wealth alone then make and keep us blest, | 95 |
| Still, still be getting; never, never rest. | |
| But if to Power and Place your passion lie, | |
| If in the pomp of life consist the joy; | |
| Then hire a slave, or (if you will) a Lord, | |
| To do the honours, and to give the word; | 100 |
| Tell at your Levee, as the crowds approach, | |
| To whom to nod, whom take into your coach, | |
| Whom honour with your hand; to make remarks, | |
| Who rules in Cornwall, or who rules in Berks: | |
| ‘This may be troublesome, is near the chair; | 105 |
| That makes three Members, this can choose a Mayor.’ | |
| Instructed thus, you bow, embrace, protest, | |
| Adopt him son, or cousin at the least, | |
| Then turn about, and laugh at your own jest. | |
| Or if your life be one continued treat, | 110 |
| If to live well means nothing but to eat; | |
| Up, up! cries Gluttony, ’t is break of day, | |
| Go drive the deer, and drag the finny prey: | |
| With hounds and horns go hunt an appetite— | |
| So Russell did, but could not eat at night; | 115 |
| Call’d happy dog the beggar at his door, | |
| And envied thirst and hunger to the poor. | |
| Or shall we every decency confound, | |
| Thro’ Taverns, Stews, and Bagnios, take our round? | |
| Go dine with Chartres, in each vice outdo | 120 |
| K[innou]l’s lewd cargo, or Ty[rawle]y’s crew, | |
| From Latian Syrens, French Circean feasts, | |
| Return well travell’d, and transform’d to beasts; | |
| Or for a titled punk, or foreign flame, | |
| Renounce our country, and degrade our name? | 125 |
| If, after all, we must with Wilmot own | |
| The cordial drop of life is Love alone, | |
| And Swift cry wisely, ‘Vive la bagatelle!’ | |
| The man that loves and laughs must sure do well. | |
| Adieu—if this advice appear the worst, | 130 |
| Ev’n take the counsel which I gave you first: | |
| Or better precepts if you can impart, | |
| Why do; I ’ll follow them with all my heart. | |
| |
